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VOL. I. THE XEETSEKITEEa Will be published every SJITL'RD.IY Morning , ■it the Corner of lYalnut and fifth Streets, IS THE CITY OK MACON, (a. in WM. It. IIA It It I so.\. TERMS: For the Paper, in advance, per annum, !js2. If not paid in advance, $2 50, per annum. If not paid until the end of the Year $3 00. (nj* Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates—and when the number of insertions de sired is not specified, they will be continued un til forbid and charged accordingly, UU”Advertisers by the Year will be contracted with upon the most favorable terms. O'Sales of Land by Administrators, Executors 1 or Guardians, are required by Law, to be held on , the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours : of ten o’clock in the Forenoon and three in the Af- j ternoon, at the Court House of the county in which j the Property is situate. Notice of these Males must ■ be give»;iu a public gazette sixty days previous ! to the day of sale. (□“Sales of Negroes by Administrators, Execu tors or Guardians, must be at Public Auction, on I the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of sale, before the Court House of the county where the Letters Testamentary, or Administration or Guardianship may have been granted, first giv ing notice thereoffor sixty days, in one ofthe pub lic gazettes of this State, and at the door of the Court House where such sales are to be held. O’ Notice for the sale of Personal Property must be given in like manner forty days previous to the day of sale. (Hz’ Notice to the Debtors and Creditors of an Es tate must be published lor forty days. C3*Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Ne groes must be published in a public gazette in this State for four months, belbre any order absolute can be given by the Court. Q J*Citations for Letters of Administration on an Estate, granted by the Court of; Ordinary, must he published thirty days fof’Letters of Dismis sion from the administration ofan Estate, monthly for six months —for Dismission from Guardian ship forty days. Rui.es for the foreclosure of a Mortgage* must he published monthly for four months — for establishing lost Papers, for the full space of three months— for compelling Titles from Ex ecutors, Administrators or others, where a bond hasbeen given by the deceased, the full space of THREE MONTHS. N. It. All Business of this kind shall receive prompt attention at the SOUTHERN MUSEUM Office, and slrict care will be taken (bat all legal Advertisements are published according to Law. tCTAII Letters directed to this Office or the Editor on business, must he post-paid, to in sure attention, fj) [for VIIE SOUTHERN MUSEUM.] The Consumptive. Ah, why is the brow ofthe loved one so and ? Why trembles the tear in that mild beaming eye ? No response for the happy, no smile for the glad, And the greetings of friends echoed back by a sigh. Arc the dreams of thy childhood all faded and gone, Has hope ceased to tiller any’ promise to thee? In the midst ot light hearts is thv spirit alone, And to sorrow a captive while others arc free? The boon of existence, the blessing of life, The treasures of I riendship, Devotion and Love, Arc the riches which cheer in this desert of strife, But our permanentjoys arc in Heaven above. If the bright things of earth have been strewn in thy way, And the blossoms of Hope by thy footsteps been prest, Thou wilt inourn not, when beauties like these shall decay, If thy tired soul pant for a “Haven of rest.” A “fountain remainelli in Judah unsealed,” Where the sick, the afflicted, and weary' may’ lave, And where all the wounds ofthe spirit are healed; fehall we dread the deep silence and gloom of the grave ? When sickness and suffering hath chastened the heart, And the spring of our youth hath been check- ! cd in its flow, Then let us not sigh when summoned to part ! With all which hath fettered our spirits below. Then let not despondency sadden thy soul, i While yet tis confined by this tenure of clay, Jor glorious the prize is, and happy the goal, S And the shadows ot midnight are a prelude to day. H. i t'rum the N. 0. Delta. He True to Me. by Theodore a. GOULD. Be true to me ! Oh, do not let the blaze Km „,r n ll "\ al . ,i,r of «hy heart burn low ; But nurse With fondest zeal its blessed rays, Ihat ,t may kindle to a brighter glow ! Huu to me ! Be truo to me ; . Be as the star that burns *»!,» «"> Be true to me! «orms of care, Be true to me. Not always may the bloom [its pain, Be true to me ; lik .° t,le hapless bark Without its compass on sr,m„ . No beacon .light to -ruard it ii mc ® torln y sea — If thouJrove Se l wm 6h d " k - Bc true tome! ’ ‘ cxi!ltu ' tc be. Correspondence of the Motional Intelligencer. Tallui.au Falls,Ga., April 9,1518. The subject of my present letter is Ailam I Vandever, “The Hunter of Tallulah.” His fame reached my ears soon after ar riving at this place, and, having obtained a guide, I paid him a visit at his retidence, I which is planted directly at the mouth of the Tallulah chasm. He lives in a log cabin, occupying the centre of a small val ley, through which the Tallulah river winds its wayward course. It is complete ly hemmed in on all sides by wild and ab rupt mountains, and one of the most ro mantic and beautiful nooks imaginable. Vandever is about sixty years of age, 1 small in stature, has a regular built weasel i face, a small grey eye, and wears a long white beard. He was born in South Car | olina, spent his early manhood in the wilds | of Kentucky, and the last thirty years of : his life in the wilderness of Georgia. J3y . way of a frolic, he took a part in the Creek I war, and is said to have killed more In dians than any other white man in the ar my. He is now living with his third wife, and claims to be the father of over thirty children , only five of whom, however, are living under his roof, the remainder be ing dead or scattered over the world. Du ring the summer months he tills, with his own hand, the few acres of land which constitute his domain. His live stock con sists of a mule and some half dozen gouts, together with a number of dogs. On inquiring into his forest life, he gave me, among others, the following particu- ' lars. When the huutiug season eornmen- j ces, early in November, be supplies him- i self with every variety of shooting mate-j rials, steel traps, and a comfortable stock i of provisions, and placing them upon his j mule, starts fursome wild region among i the mouutains, where he remains until the i following spring. The shanty which he j occupies during this season is of the rudest j character, v\ ith one side always open, as | he tells lRe, for the purpose of having an j abundance of fresh air. In killing wild animals he pursues but two methods, call- j ed “tire lighting” and “still hunting.” His j favorite game is the deer, but he is not ; particular, and secures the fur of every 1 four-legged creature which may happen j to cross his path.- The largest number of j skins that lie ever brought home at one ! time was six hundred, among which were those of the bear, the black and gray wolf, the panther, the wild Cat, the fox, the coon and some dozen other varieties. He com putes the entire number of deer that he bus killed in his lifetime at four thousand. \\ hen spring arrives, and he purposes to return to his valley home, be packs his furs upon his old mule, and, setting him self upon the pile of plunder, makes a bee line out of the wilderness. And, by those who have seen him in this homeward bound condition, 1 am told that he pre sents one of the most curious and roman tic pictures imaginable. While among the mountains, his beast subsists upon whatever it may happen to glean in its forest rambles, and, when the first supply of his own provisions is exhausted, he usually contents himself with wild game, which he is often compelled to devour un accompanied with biead or salt. His mule is the smallest and most miserable looking creature of the kind that I ever saw, and glories in the singular name of "The Deed and Tom Walker .” When Vandever informed me of this fact, which he did with a self-satisfied air, l told him that the first portion of the mule’s name was more applicable to himself than to the dumb beast; whereupon he “grinned hor ribly a ghastly smile,” as if 1 had paid him a eompliment. On questioning my hunter friend with regard to some of his adventures, he com menced a rigmarole narrative, which would have lasted a whole month had 1 not po litely requested him to keep his mouth closed while I took a portrait of him in pencil. His stories all bore a strong fam ily likeness, but were evidently to be re lied on, and proved conclusively that the the man knew not what it was to fear. As specimens of the whole, 1 will outline a few. On one occasion he came up to a large gray wolf, into whose head he dis charged a ball. The animal did not drop but made its way into an adjoining cavern and disappeared. Vandever waited a j while at the opening, and as he could not I see or hear his game, he concluded that it 1 had ceased to breathe, whereupon he fell | upon his hands and knees, and entered the cave. On reaching the bottom, he found the wolf alive, when a “clinch fight” en sued, and the hunter’s knife completely severed the heart of the animal. On drag ging out the dead wolf into the sunlight, it was found that his lower jaw had been broken, which was probably the reason why he had not succeeded in destroying the hunter. At one time, when he was out of ammu- 1 nition, his dogs fell upon a large bear, and it so happened that the latter got one of thi; former in his power, and was about to squeeze it to death. This was a sight the I hunter could uot endure, so he unsheath ed his huge hunting-kuife and assaulted die black monster. The bear tore off nearly every rag of his clothing, and in making his first plunge with the knife he completely cut off two of his own fingers instead of injuring the bear. He was now in a perfect phrenzy of pain and rage, and 3IACOX, (CA.,) SATURDAY HOH\|\(;, DEtEUBEK IS4S. in making another effort succeeded to his satisfaction, and gained the victory. That bear weighed three hundred and fifty pounds. On another occasion he had fired at a buck near the brow of a precipice some thirty feet high, which hangs over one of the pools in the Tallulah river; On see ing the buck drop he took it for granted that he was about to die, when he ap proached the animal for iho purpose of cutting its throat. To his great surprise, however, the buck suddenly sprung to his feet and made a tremendous rush at the hunter with a view of throwing him off' the ledge. But what was more remarkable, the animal succeeded in its effort, though not until Vandever had obtained a fair hold ot the buck’s antlers, when the twain performed a somciset into the pool below. j The buck made its escape, and Vandever j was not seriously injured" in any particu-1 lar. About a month subsequent to that I time he killed a buck, which had a bullet wound in the lower part of its neck, where upon lie concluded that he had finally tri umphed over the animal whieh had given him the unexpected ducking. But the most remarkable escape which old Vandever ever experienced happened on this wise. lie was encamped upon one of the loftiest mountains in Union county. It was near the twilight hour, and lie had heard the howl of a wplf. W ith a view of ascertaining the direction whence it came, he climbed upon an im mense boulder-rock, (weighing perhaps fifty tons,) which stood on the very brow of a steep hill side. While standing upon this boulder he suddenly felt a swinging sensation, and to his astonishment he found that it was about to make a fearful plunge into the ravine half a mile below him. As fortune would have it, tiie limb of an oak tree drooped over the rock ; and as the lock started from its toiliish foun dation, he seized the limb, and thereby saved his life. I lie dreadful crashing of the boulder as it descended the mountain side came to the hunter’s car while lie was suspended in the air, and by the time it had reached the bottom he dropped him self on the very spot which had been vaca ted by the boulder. A andever said that this was the only time in his life when he had been really frightened ; and he also added, that for one day after his escape he did not care a finger’s snap for the finest game in the wilderness. While on my visit to Vandever’s cabin, one of his boys came home from a fishing expedition, and on examining his fish 1 was surprised to find a couple of shad and three or four striped buss or rod; fish. I hey had been taken in the Tallulah, just below the chasm, by means of a wicker net, and at a point distant from the ocean at least two hundred and fifty miles. 1 had been informed that the Tallulah a bounded in trout, but 1 was not prepared to find salt-water fish in this remote moun tain wilderness. •Since 1 have introduced the above youth lul \ andever to my readers, I will record a single one ot his deeds, which ought to give him a fortune, or at least an educa tion. ’I he incident occurred when he was in his twelfth year. He and a younger brother had been gathering berries on a mountain side, ami were distant from home about two miles. AY liile carelessly tramp ing down the weeds and bushes, the younger boy was bitten by a rattlesnake on the calf of his leg. In a few moments thereafter the unhappy child fell to the ground in great pain, and the pair were in unexpected tribulation. The elder boy, having succeeded in killing the rattlesnake conceived the idea, as the only alternative, of carrying his little brother home upon his back. And this deed did the noble fellow accomplish. For two long miles did he carry his heavy burden, over rocks and down the water courses, and in an hour after he had reached his father’s cab in the younger child was dead ; and the heroic boy was in a state of insensibility from the fatigue and heat which he had experienced. lie recovered, however, and is now apparently in the enjoyment of good health, though when I fixed my ad miring eyes upon him it seemed to me that he was far from being strong, and it was evident that a shadow rested upon his brow. Pork vs. Beef. —A laughable scene occurred recently at a tavern in Brooklyn. A dandy boarder who was used to liv ing on the fat of the land, and when his board bills became due, put off’ payment by some plausible excuse, was summoned one day by ringing the bell to dinner, and upon looking at the viands on the table, spread out in Mrs. S’s best style, sneeringly observed, “I declares it is no thing but pork ! pork !! pork !! !” “Well, if you’ll pay Mistress your bill now due,” ' said a servant girl, “you can get beef! beef! ! beef!! ! likewise.” Irish Dialogue. —“Arra, Teddy—an’ j wasn’t yer name Teddy O’Byrne, before ye left ould Ireland !” “Sure it was, me darlint.” “But my jewel, ye add an s, and call yerself Teddy O’Byrnes now 1 ’ | “Ye spalpeen ! don’t ye know I’ve been j married since I came to Ameriky 1 and are ye so ignorant of grametics, as not to know one object added to another becomes plural!" \ 11l- liu.stlun.tl, tile Sympathy- of Nature. BV ERNEST HELFENSTEIN. Man silteth in the midst of a crowd.— He looketh into die very face of his bro ther, and yet it is strange to him—for a veil is upon it. He covereth tire soul in terror from a creature like himself, which at the same time he dares reveal to the ma jesty of heaven with all its defacements. Shrinking from human scrutiny, he still findeth security in numbers ; strong in the aggregate,, but weak and defenceles apart. He congregates in masses, for it is his na ture to do so; and he gains power moral ly and physically by this attrition of mind i upon mind—this magnetkm of atom upon j atom. He feeioth the pulsations of his i °wn heart akin to those about him, and thence he deriveth a moral grandeur. Uowardly anil weak by himself, he planteth a living, breathing wall, and thus ■ breasteth the cannon’s mouth. When the iron foot of oppression is crushed upon his sinews, an under-ground swell ariseth. It is the great voice of a common nature ap pealing to its fellow ;—it is the sound at whose vibrations thrones topple to the earth. Man herdeth in cities; yet his individ ual nature is not forgotten—for walls are built up, and bolts and bars are affixed ; and midnight lamps, and sentinels, and prisons and tortures and gibbets. Thus heseeketh companionship, and yet dwell etii as in a brotherhood of Cains ! There cometh war and pestilence, and famine. Man scanneth coldly the ties of companionship. He is appalled at the gaunt looks of his neighbor; he clutcheth fix - the morsel of bread, and struggleth for the free air. Then he diethbythe way-side, mindless of birth or kin ; —then lie goetli forth pale and terror-stricken, for human compacts are severed, and lie castifth about his sus picious eyes, beholding a foe in every hu - man shape; and thus he deserteth his goodly palaces ! I he voice of suffering, of business, or pleasure, ceaseth from the city. Silence broodeth at the gates. The spider spin nctli her drapery ; the hat hangeth from the cornice, and the foot of the fox patteth the marble hall. Columns sway to the earth, and the serpent basketh upon archi tecture. The gray moss anil the green vine seize companionship upon the lattice, and huge trees shadow the court where the fountain sent up its melody. Silence broodeth at the gates ! Listen! 1 >o you not hear Nature at her laboratory'? Silently she upheavetli the marble pave ment to reveal the sheen-like grass. A mound ariseth, small indeed, yet con structed by one of her agents ; and now a dusky mole darteth forth from its covert. The green lizard glideth in its burnished mail, and fearetli not the foot of man. This capsule of moss, filled with the dews of the morning, hath found a resting in the very eyes of the morning, hath found a resting in the very eyes of a statue, that once might have filled an artist with all of Pygmalion’s yearning. This blossom is planted upon a tomb ; —it may have been that of the lovely, the beloved ! Turn away! Nature beedeth thee not. She worketh ever at her beautiful crea tions, filling the waste and desolate places, shrouding n. .n and his works with her own gay mantle, or whispering, “Let the per turbed rest.” And thus she husheth the great desert where he hath been, and svorketh by her self till he is forgotten. Ages on ages she steadfastly filleth her bowers wiih beauty; rounding with lichen, and dropping with vine, till the poor dreamer beneath and the memory of his works have ceased from the earth. Nature hath no sympathy with the dream-worker who movetb in her midst, a strange mystery, creating like herself, in deed, yet all that he doetli to be ere long covered by her own gray pall, till ready for the sepulchre. Is it thus with all that he docth I Ask thyself, dream-child. Shall all things pe rish with thee ? Rest not till a response cometh from thine own breast that shall fill thee with awe and with hope. Nature hath no sympathy with thee. It is the life within thee, that imparteth the glory thou dost behold in her. Hope and life are buoyant within thee, and the blue sky and the green earth become a part of thy blessedness. Peace foldethher wings about thee, and tranquility is born of the warm air, the soft shadows, and the lisp ing waters. Love ! —alas ! poor dreamer, awake thou not—love hath cast a spell about thee, and anew voice of harmony, a sweet lan guage of divine affinities, breathed) ever in thine ears. Bird and blossom, earth aad sky, reveal a holier aspect. Unloved, unappreciated, hopeless, des pairing, appeal not now to Nature. She hath no mood of sympathy;—she looketh coldly upon thee. Mindful of her own la bor, she heedeth not the anguish of thy heart. Her beautiful works apart from thee, chill tlice with a double sense of desolation. She stayeth not a single de velopement that thou art in anguish of spi rit. She worketh on, on, even as though thou hadst no existence. The life is within thyself. It is tliou who dost impart the gladness and the beauty. Nature is a dove. She worketh Iby fixed laws—day by day resolving and j renewing. Ages on ages findeth her still the same, working out forms, the types of which exist in thine own breast. Thou hast emotions born of earth—con i tent with earth, and to these she seemeth to respond. Anon come those infinite yearnings, those deep, unutterable mys teries, that neither language nor earth may typify , still thou findest nature busy at the many angled crystal, painting the blossom, singing in woodland bower and gushing waterfall, ever the same—and she hath no response in thine appeal for sympathy. Alas ! dost thou not awake to feel that thine is a nobler destiny—that this intense solitude, which nature, so genial in all i common emotions, helpeth now to press j upon the heart pointeth to a something be- I yond ! She wbispereth in thine ear— “ Thou hast opened the seventh seal of human life, and what thou boholdest is hidden from me. My ministry is accom plished. Thou art entering in the veil.— Thou hast borne the image of the earthly, now also shall thou bear the image of the heavenly.” Mourn not that thy proud Talmud be come the ruin of the desert ; that the pla ces that now know thee in thy majesty and the grandeur of thy creative energy, shall soon know thee no more and forever.— Here thy skill is at work among things that perish ; y r et do thy conceptions stretch onward to the unseen and the eternal, and therein is thy glory, thy strength, and thine unfailing source of joy. A ouNG Men. —The idea is prevalent in some communities, that young men are fit neither for generals nor statesmen,and that they must be kept in the back ground un til their physical strength is impaired by age, and their intellectual faculties become blunted by the weight of years. Let us look to the history of the jiast, anil from the long list of heroes anil statesman, select some who have distinguished themselves, and we shall find that they were young nun when they performed those acts which have won for them an imperishable meed of fame, and placed theii names high on the page of history. Alexander the conqueror of the then whole civilized world, viz: Greece, Egypt and Asia, died at 33. Buonaparte was crowned Emperor of France when 33 years of age. Pitt, the younger brother, was about 20 years of age, when, in the British Parlia ment he boldly advocated the cause of the American Colonies, and but 22 when made Chancellor of the Exchequer. Edmund Burke, at the age of 25, was first Lord of the Treasury. Our own Washington was but 25 when lie covered the retreat of the British troops at Braddock’s defeat, and was appointed to the command in chief of all die Virginia forces. Alexander Hamilton, at 20, was a Lieu tenant Colonel and Aid to Washington— at 25 a member of Congress—at 33 Secre tary of the Treasury. Thomas Jefferson wns but 32 when he drafted the ever memorable Declaration of Independence. Sir Isaac Newton, at the age of 30 years, occupied the Mathematical chair at Cam bridge College, England, having by his scientific discoveries rendered his name immortal. We might continue the list to a grcatei length, but enough /ias been said already, to prove that the idea that young men are not capable of performing great and enno bling actions, or of taking a high position in the councils of a nation, is chimerical and visionary. And what has been said, may well serve to encourage the young to set up a high standard and press towards it with ardor, suffeiing nothing to discour age them from soaring “onward and up ward” in the paths of fame, or in the pur- of file: aiure and science. Modern Science. — How astonishing are the results of modern mechanical sci ence. The commerce across the deserts.' of Arabia, once so great and extensive, lias j been destroyed by the Mariner’s compass, I and Tyre and Sidon have fallen from their ancient commercial greatness. The steam engine has struck down the trade of the caravan, and the steamboat rides bravely on the waters of the Nile, proclaiming to the inhabitants oftlic Delta the powers and genius of a people belonging to a country which was unknown to Nero. Our levia thans of the new world proclaim to the in habitants of the old the power and civil ization of the fabled Atalantus ; and Asia, the cradle of the human race, is now re ceiving lessons of freedom and knowledge from the land of the setting sun. Ameri can citizens are highly honored in the city of Constantinople, and are selected by the .Sultan as teachers of science. There is a bright path laid out for our country : that of carrying freedom, science and knowl edge to the ends of the earth. May we not neglect to tread in this path of true glory. The eyes of the wliold world are now fixed intensely on America, and ac cording as we act, right or wrong, so do we exert an influence upon other nations for good or evil. Nations should be exem plary in their characters, as individuals ; and we hold it to be the greatest glory of any nation to bo great in knowledge and viituu. * TEKENCE IN ENGLAND. Terence was an honest, witty, happy sort of Irishman, one who could take a joke and give one, as handsomely as any man in Kilkenny. Terence was a regular vis itor to old England, every harvest to help John Bull to get in his grain, and such like matters. The last time Terence went to England, a certain snob fell in his track, much to the discomfort of both. The snob felt uneasy in the presence of such an un couth, “uncultivated Irishman.” Poor Terence felt, to use his own words, “mighty quare at standing in the prisence of such an unchristian looking crather. By the powers !” he cried, “whatafumiy baste ! The like o’ ye I niver seed before nor since. Sure yer father and mother must have been Romulus and Ilaipus.” “Now Pat!” said the Cockney, about to put a poser, “can you tell me who was the wisest man ?” i Terence scratched his head in seeming, perplexity, “Now don’t ye be hard on mo sur, that hasn’t no laming at this prisint time, barring what I got when a gossoon, and being afilictcil with a wake mimory, I lost ivery word o’ that long ago. So you sec, sur, that’s all I got, not a whit more at all, at all. But may be ye’d be so kind as to tell me sur, who the gintleman is V ’ “No Pat, your memory won’t stand it, and it would be wrong to put this on you.” “Och ! now it’s very considerate ye are, thank ye sur. But may be sur, ye could tell me who is the most famous maniu the earth, in my opinion, 1 mean as it regards folly.” “ Well then Pat I must confess, that I cannot tell. Perhaps you can ?” “I can sur, anil sure it’s yerself that is, in my opinion, the biggest fool in the world.” The cockney becamo enraged, and was firmly resolved to hurl a shot at Terence by allusion to a favorite subject. “Paddy,” said he, “how do the potatoes get along in Ireland ?” Terence could not bear an insinuation against his particular friends. “Och !by the houly Paul!” said he, gently raising his shelalah. “It’s fine they’re growing sure. Here’s the stalk o’ one. Just feel the weight of it!” With this suggestion Terence leveled a blow at the poor cockney, which descended more like a sledge hammer than a potato stalk, for it laid the poor fellow sprawling, in a very mutilated condition, the claret run ning on the ground as if it cost nothing. “Good morning,, sur,” said Terence, “sure ye’ll be all the better for this bloofl letting.” Truth alone is Beautiful. —There is an innate principle in the human heart which causes men to love truth and regard it as something peculiarly valuable, beau tiful and majestic. The images of a live ly fancy, or the fairy forms of the ideal world, may delight for a moment the rest less mind ; but truth only can impart a peace which partakes of its own dignity, simplicity and eternity. Those who are charmed with finely wrought tales of ima ginary joys or woes, and are wont to feed the immortal intellect with “airy nothing,” feci too painfully the insufficiency of fic tion to supply the deep necessities of the soul; and though such seldom become the lovers and defenders of truth, they are ac customed to regard it as a treasure which possesses the inherent power of imparting a lasting satisfaction to its possessor. So spontaneously does the love of truth spring up in the human heart, that no sys tem of error, however studied and specious would meet the approbation of mankind, did it not assume the garb of reality, and present itself to the inquiring mind as the object of its search. Truth, then, may be regarded as having an original abode in the human soul ; and doubtless that earlier man who stood upon (lie earth, and held “sweet converse with Cherubim and Seraphim,” saw it in all perfection and loveliness. But when the polluting and destructive influence of sin introduced disorder and confusion into the harmonious universe, and marred the beautiful symmetry of man’s moral consti tution, prejudice, in part, gained the as cendancy over the principle, and obtained a seat in tke heart there to defend error and counterfeit truth. When we consider truth as an emana tion front Deity, an attribute of the Eter nal, as destined in the progress of time, to revolutionize the world, and restore man to his pristine similarity to his Maker, it is not surprising that a silent awe and admi ration should steal over us ; and while we ' contemplate its grandeur and purity, that sublime emotions should fill the soul, and that it should present itself to rational be ings, as alone beautiful. |CT Justice is a duly—generosity a vir tue. Yet the world is too apt to regard the first as a favor, and the latter as a folly. is a man’s head like a lumber wagon ! Because the less it has in it the more noise it makes. eloquence amongst men, is like a cypress tree in a forest, be ing great and tall, but bearing no fruit. (t!7”Reprove a friend privately; but coiftmcnd one publicly. NO. 1.